


Muddled Ponds

by Voidmancer



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Established Relationship, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Psychological Horror, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-05 19:57:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4192908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voidmancer/pseuds/Voidmancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's almost nightfall and Dorian and Trevelyan get separated from their companions in the Emerald Graves. They find the abandoned Chateau d'Onterre and hope to find some shelter for the evening, but they are not alone. Something haunts the mansion and it seems interested in the mark on Trevelyan's hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Mansion Among the Graves

"Has it stopped chasing us?" Dorian asked between gulps of breath. He looked back to the forest, fingers wound tightly around his staff in case the danger had not yet passed, but it had.

Trevelyan watched the forest as well and listened closely, dual blades still in his hands. Nothing. Their unfortunate tangle with the various beasts of the forest seemed to have come to an end for now. "I think we lost them." Next time they encounter a giant, it would be prudent to start fighting away from the herd of brontos. He stopped to look around, unable to recognize their surroundings. In their haste to get away, they hadn't stopped to think where exactly they were going.

"Though we might be lost as well," Trevelyan said with a small wry smile as he sheathed his blades and fumbled for his map.

Dorian went to him, securing his staff on his back. He looked around then back at the map.

"Well, we're at the edge of the forest somewhere by the river, so I suppose we should be somewhere here," said the Inquisitor, pointing at a spot on the map with a small lopsided grin that told Dorian that he was guessing at best.

They've been following this man around for months and he barely knew how to read a map, Dorian thought, rolling his eyes. Dorian took it from him and tried to discern where exactly they were and found that— well, the man was right, they were somewhere there.

Trevelyan grinned. "Well we can't turn back and it looks like we'll probably have to take a long route around the cliffs. Not sure if we'll even make it before dark." The sun had began to set and so they were on their way back to camp when they encountered the giant. Through the canopy of trees the light dwindled with each passing moment, they had little time to dally. "We might need to consider preparing for nightfall instead of trying to make it back."

Dorian sighed, rolling the map and handing it to Trevelyan. "I suppose. The map indicates there is an estate of sorts somewhere nearby. Perhaps instead of braving the wilderness without even so much as a tent, the inhabitants of this place could offer the Inquisitor shelter for the night."

"It's probably abandoned as well, just like the first villa we encountered," Trevelyan pointed out. They both began to make their way towards the direction opposite from the one they came from.

"There would be a roof over our heads at least," Dorian returned, following behind the Inquisitor.

"There might even be a nice bed we could use," Trevelyan followed without missing a beat, looking back to give Dorian a suggestive little grin.

There was no one else around, or Dorian would have not dignified the remark save for a small snort, but they were so he said, "If it could compare to the other one, I'd say there would be several beds that could be of use. Maker knows I may finally be able to obtain some actual sleep. Alone."

A hearty chuckle came from Trevelyan who turned around to take Dorian's hand in his. "Alone now is it? And here I thought I was doing a fine job of warming your bedroll every night."

"Among other things," Dorian said with a small smirk, clasping Trevelyan's hand in return.

"Shall I try to keep my hands to myself then?" Trevelyan asked, bringing Dorian's hand to his lips, kissing the back of his gloved hand while looking up at Dorian with a smoldering gaze.

It was a wonder how they kept from stumbling, wandering on as they were while making eyes at each other, but somehow Dorian managed, though he was also at a loss for a words for a moment. Those bright eyes directed at him, usually lit with mischief, burned now with arduous intent. Dorian knew better than to be entranced by them, the Inquisitor was every bit a rogue after all, but the heart and mind were not always in harmony.

"You would do as you please, regardless," Dorian replied as Trevelyan lowered their hands again, ignoring the warmth spreading on his cheeks.

"I will if you don't say anything regarding the matter," Trevelyan said, his as the path in front of them slanted, ended abruptly and plunged. The height of at least two regular steps on a staircase, but the soft earth and rocks made it a little perilous. Trevelyan, always so surefooted, descended the step first before he looked up at Dorian, wordlessly offering to help him down.

With their hands already linked, Dorian stepped down, halfway realizing that Trevelyan's help was quite needed. After all these months, the wilderness and its uneven terrain sometimes still had him stumbling. Trevelyan kept him upright and gently steadied him as he reached the even ground and almost fell forward.

"Careful, my duckling," Trevelyan said, hand lingering on Dorian's waist. "Much as I would like to, I'm afraid carrying you through the forest would be beyond my capabilities should you injure yourself."

"Maker forbid," Dorian managed as heat rushed to his cheeks at the use of the endearment. It quickly dissipated at the image of Trevelyan, all taut muscle, his body honed with swiftness in mind rather than strength, struggling to carry him along the forest brought Dorian to near laughter. What an image that would make. Trevelyan would likely stumble at the attempt, break something and then they'd both be stranded in the wilderness. He shook his head, the silliness of it lifting his spirits despite their current situation.

The path soon disappeared under the slightly rough terrain and both men carried on with little difficulty. Soon, Dorian and Trevelyan caught sight of rooftops and glimmering spires and reached the gates of a grand villa.

Or what once was a grand villa.

"The place looks rather rundown to be abandoned only recently," Dorian noted as they approached the rusty gates and noted the absence of locks.

Trevelyan drew one of his weapons as he pushed the gate open and stepped inside. Left to fend for itself, the garden was at once overgrown and decayed. Herbs and flowering plants that would have needed a gardener's tender care had wilted away, while the vines, trees and other greenery throve. They crossed to vast gardens to the imposing front doors.

As they were also unlocked, Trevelyan pushed the doors open. The warm golden light of dusk flooded the grand foyer as they stepped in. Immediately it was apparent that the place had seen better days, but for a house that had been vacant for so long, the looting and other expected damage seemed minimal. Strange, especially when the Freemen had a firm foothold over the area.

The mark on Trevelyan's left hand tingled with the beginnings of power, the familiar reverberations informing him something concerning the veil was quite amiss. A nearby rift, perhaps?

"Is your hand bothering you again?" Dorian asked, taking his left hand and examining it, as though he would be able to see what was wrong through his gloves.

Trevelyan rolled his eyes and brought his left hand to briefly cup and caress the side of Dorian's face when the front door behind them swung shut with a loud bang.

Both men jumped at the crack and Trevelyan immediately brought himself in front of Dorian, standing between him and the door, the single dual-blade raised as he reached for the other one.

"That wasn't the wind," Dorian said as Trevelyan carefully approached the door and tried to push it open.

The door's handles gave way, but just as Trevelyan was about to step out to the garden, but saw nothing amiss. A small breeze stirred, light enough to sway the leaves on the trees and on the blades of grass, but not an oversized door. He stepped back inside, tugging the door handle along with him.

He looked back at Dorian, their eyes holding each other's gaze for a moment a silent conversation going on between them both, Trevelyan questioning, Dorian mulling over no small number of things.

"It could have been nothing," Trevelyan offered after a moment, putting his weapons away.

"I would believe that, if your hand didn't react to something in here," Dorian said in a low voice.

"So, a night out in the wilds where will we risk sleeping in the rough or finding out what this place is all about?" Trevelyan asked with a small chuckle, though it sounded more nervous than merry.

"I think the answer is obvious," Dorian said as he began to walk further into the house.

Trevelyan's hand shook as the mark flared briefly, though there had been enough force in it that his whole arm numbed for a moment. The sensation returned immediately but not without some discomfort. He stamped down a small grunt as he massaged his arm.

It was nothing, just the Anchor reacting to the thinness of the Fade around him, he thought, trying to reassure himself.

But he didn't believe it as much as he would like.


	2. Nebulous Shadow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this has been simultaneously fun and at the same time quite scary and I hope it shows in the writing lol. It takes time to set the stage and most of the earlier chapters will be doing this, but please bear with me! :D  
> Also I am aware the Chateau only has 2 bedrooms within the game, but I wanted more empty rooms.

There was something about the silence surrounding them that Dorian could not name. He could hear every one of their footfalls echoing through the halls, but not the sounds of the forest outside through the glass windows. Nothing.

What he could hear though was the fabric of his robes sweeping against each other with every step, the sounds of Trevelyan's light footsteps, the soft scrape of metal against metal of his breastplate.

And another pair of footsteps somewhere in the distance, followed by the faint echo of someone singing. Or was he hearing things?

Dorian stopped in the center of the hallway, the darkness filled the hallway. He could make out a door on one end and approached it, but just as he took a step forward, light glowed somewhere behind him and he turned around. A brief rush of cold washed over him. The two candelabra by the door had lit up.

"Andraste's crisped tits," Trevelyan swore, jumping back and crashing into a side table, sending no small amount of clutter crashing down onto the marble floor.

The ensuing cacophony rang through the halls, but as the noise settled, the silence seemed to return in two-folds.

"Watch for any shards," Dorian said, after his ears had stopped ringing and conjured a ball of light to illuminate the mess Trevelyan had made.

An upturned silver bowl lay on the floor, surrounded by figs and what was once a flower vase. The glistening porcelain shards were small islands in a puddle of clear water. For a moment Trevelyan thought nothing of it as he tried to avoid the mess he had made, but the figs were bruised in places, the hydrangea flowers on the vase slightly wilted, a detail no fake flowers could hope to mimic so intricately, and the smell of fresh water was unmistakable. They were not wax imitations at all, but real food.

Trevelyan said as much to Dorian, crouching to pluck a fig from the floor. "I thought this place was abandoned."

The fig looked freshly picked and definitely did not belong in a house that had no inhabitants. That did not mean there were other people about. What sort of bandits or looters would stay and leave fruit by the vestibule along with fresh flowers? He plucked the fig from Trevelyan's fingers before the man could think about eating it.

"We need to find a suitable place to stay, possibly the bedchambers," Dorian said, tossing the fruit back onto the side table where Trevelyan had knocked it over. He strode over to the door at the end of the hallway.

"What exactly is going on?" Trevelyan muttered, mostly to himself, his voice still level. He was not too worried, although knew there was something quite amiss. They had never encountered a situation when a bit of applied force couldn't put things to rest. If this house was haunted, there would be a rift and if they could get to it, then the problem would be solved. Out here in the wilderness, the rules of his survival as Inquisitor was quite simpler and this would be no different.

Dorian threw the doors open to what looked like a gallery, he strode past the fireplace as it lit up, having already expecting it to, along with the dozens of other candelabra standing by the portraits. The fires emanated a warm and inviting glow, but Dorian could feel a mild artificial pull in the light, as if they were bewitched to inspire warmth and welcome.

Whatever was with them here was eager for their company. Though Dorian knew that was not, in anyway, a good thing.

"There's a library up there," Trevelyan said as he began to climb the set of impressive stairs.

The bedrooms would most likely be upstairs, Dorian thought, following Trevelyan up.

The vast library overflowed with books, aligned in neat rows of towering shelves that nearly reached the ceiling. Had the circumstances of their visit been less urgent, Dorian would have taken his time to scan the selection thoroughly, but even the skylight above could not lend enough illumination. Trevelyan waited for him at the top of the stairs, examining their immediate surroundings with a critical eye and a trained ear. Futile, if Dorian were to be asked, they were being baited and there would be no outward signs of danger yet, but Dorian said nothing, it was better to be safe than caught unaware.

Trevelyan began to make his way across the hall when the candelabra surrounding him lit up again. The telltale woosh of magic that came from each of them was unmistakable. Fortunately, there were no more violent reactions and expletives that would make Chantry sisters faint as he had anticipated them. Dorian strode over to Trevelyan's side before the man would forget himself and wander off to far.

"No sign of looting. No dust either," Trevelyan murmured, absently taking Dorian's hand in his as he turned to approach a table between a pair of shelves. While all other shelves were neat and untouched, this particular nook was disheveled and the table brimmed with books, sheets of parchment in varying sizes and even scrolls strewn about it, some of them even spilling to the floor.

Trevelyan noticed this and turned to examnie the mess, taking the nearest book. "'How to Prevent Magic Formation in the Earliest Stages'" he read aloud, angling the book to catch the light from the nearest candle stands. His eyebrows furrowed as he scanned the next few paragraphs.

"What fine reading material," Dorian said, disgust plain in his voice as Trevelyan placed the book down.

"There are more books on magic— and how to contain it," Trevelyan noted, picking up another book and rifling through it.

A single glance at the documents had told Dorian all he needed. "And every single one is filled with superstitious nonsense."

Trevelyan turned away. "A whole house that would have been ransacked yet nothing seems out of place, or missing, or has speck of dust on it while these are still lying about," he murmured, gesturing to the table. He shook his head a little, not certain yet as to what to make of it all and turned to Dorian.

Just as he was about to suggest moving on, the sight of a figure by a doorway flashed briefly from the corner of his eye. He almost exclaimed loudly in shock, but the image had gone before he could fully process it.

"What is it?"

"Fucking—" Trevelyan swallowed as he tried to catch his breath. His heart pounded against his chest, in his ears, but he turned to Dorian and shook his head again. Nothing. It was nothing but a trick of the dim light.

"We both know there's something in this house. Barricading ourselves in for the evening seems to be the best. It'd be easier to find the cause of all this in the morning." He turned to Dorian and thought to present the idea of leaving one last time. Something definitely was amiss. "Or we can leave if you prefer. We'll manage out in the wilderness, somehow."

Dorian shook his head. Trevelyan could be optimistic about these sort of things, but they wouldn't last the night in one piece with just the two of them at this hour. "We no longer have daylight to gather any supplies and we would not want to risk running into any of the wildlife at night."

"Well, we're really out of options then aren't we?" Trevelyan said, trying to sound as though that wasn't such a bad thing as he made his way to the threshold where the figure had been standing.

Dimly lit by the red glow of dying light, they were met with doors to what were most likely several bedrooms. Trevelyan went to the nearest one and turned the knob, the solid smoothness of the mechanisms as he twisted communicating that it was not locked, but when he pushed on the door it would not give way, not even a budge.

And then he heard it, the barest trace of a sound from inside the room. A small, keening wail followed by a chuckle.

Trevelyan tensed.

"Whatever is here doesn't want us in there," Dorian muttered under his breath as Trevelyan stepped back. Dorian wrapped his fingers around Trevelyan's arm, steadying him.

"Didn't you hear that?" Trevelyan asked.

"Let's try another room," Dorian said, stamping down the mild panic that bubbled in the pit of his stomach. He hadn't heard what Trevelyan had, but didn't he just hear someone singing earlier, without comment from the other man? He strode to the next door, half-dragging Trevelyan with him. The knob turned, but again the door would not move.

Footsteps began to echo, the distinct sound of soft slippers against polished marble.

Both men turned to each other at the first few sounds. They were small, slow footsteps, the rhythm sounding like someone slowly but steadily climbing stairs.

Trevelyan scrambled to the next door and the knob would not give, but the door shuddered slightly against the threshold when Trevelyan had attempted to open it. Locked! It was just locked.

"This one," Trevelyan breathed, going on his knees as he fumbled for his lockpicks. His fingers trembled as he reached for the proper picks and he nearly dropped them to the floor as he began to work.

 _Tip-tap, tip-tap, tap._ The footfalls were at the top of the stairs. _Tap, tap, tap._

Dorian drew his staff and took a fighting stance.

Trevelyan sucked in breath as he fiddled with the locks. The lack of light was not detrimental to this skill, but they were complicated mechanisms and he hadn't nearly enough time.

 _Tap, tap, tap._ Halfway across the expansive library now.

Cursing under his breath, Trevelyan concentrated his efforts, tapping and turning the picks as he had practiced before. He could do this.

A soft click announced that the door was unlocked and Trevelyan dropped his lockpicks on the floor as he scrambled to push the door open.

"Dorian," Trevelyan barely managed to call him, his throat dry from quelling his fear.

 _Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap,_ the footfalls began to break into a run.

Dorian took several steps back, unwilling to turn his back to whatever it was that approached. Trevelyan grabbed the back of Dorian's collar and pulled him inside.

A shape appeared at the threshold connecting the hall to the library, but neither Dorian nor Trevelyan saw what exactly it was. Trevelyan kicked the door shut with a loud bang and quickly pushed down the lock.

A shadow appeared by the gap between the door, shapeless black against the crimson twilight.

Whatever it was turned the knob once, twice, thrice. Little playful turns, as if it were taunting them.

Horrified, Trevelyan nearly heaved at the thought that he had left the exact picks he used to pry the locks outside, but the creature at their door chortled and the nebulous shadow writhed as the creature moved, its movements punctuated by several distinct footsteps that resembled those of a dance.

With a _tip, tip_ and a _tap,_ the lockpicks Trevelyan left outside were kicked under the gap of the door, lightly hitting Trevelyan's boots.


	3. A Brief Reprieve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little breather of a chapter~  
> Thank you to everyone who's been reading and commenting! :D

Trevelyan began to retch, covering his mouth with a gloved hand. The simmering dread and panic he had been holding in erupted in a fit of coughing for a few moments. Dorian went to his side in an instant, a hand on his shoulder, but Trevelyan had finished when Dorian offered him a waterskin. Trevelyan shook his head and sighed, turning to look down at the door.  
  
"All the doors sealed, except for this," Trevelyan muttered, wiping his mouth as he checked the lock on the knob again. Sometime during his coughing fit, the creature at their door applied the same magic to the knob as with the other door. The knob turned all the way, but it would not move from the threshold a single budge any longer. "Whatever was at the door, it clearly wanted us to stay here."  
  
"To trap us in," Dorian shook his head and turned to survey their supposed prison. "Not surprising."  
  
Dorian's immediate impression: terribly Orlesian, brimming with its customary gaudy gilded pomp. Dorian frowned at what looked like a giant marble statue looming over a desk. For all Tevinter's equal decadence, to which Dorian himself would admit, at least Tevinter had some modicum of taste. He looked away. Even the layout of the room itself was the epitome of Orlesian frippery, with half of the room elevated.  
  
Dorian climbed the short set of stairs, rolling his eyes briefly at the melodrama. The elevated half contained an enormous bed, no less garish as the rest of the furniture surrounding them. To his left, a hearth from which the beginnings of a small fire blazed, as well as two chairs beside it.  
  
The wall to his right was empty, save for a corner table with a vase filled with hydrangeas and a silver bowl brimming with figs.  
  
Trevelyan came up the stairs and strode towards the windows. Outside the last light of day faded into deep violet and it wouldn't be long before night fully settled in. He turned the handles and tried to push, but the windows, just like their door, were sealed shut with a strange force.  
  
"At least the door to the water closet responds," Trevelyan muttered. The urgency had passed. Something was in the chateau, but that something didn't seem quite intent on harming them. Rather it seemed to be content to simply taunt them. Nothing to be overly worried about, especially when locking themselves in a bedroom had been their plan all along.  
  
Dorian had shrugged off his cloak, the small pack he carried around with him for meagre supplies and his staff. Then, feeling the exhaustion set in as his dropped himself on one of the chairs. He snorted at Trevelyan's quip and threw his head back onto the chair. "Cornered in a haunted house where an unknown thing has lead us where exactly it wants us to be without any clue as to its intentions, but yes, at least the water closet is accessible."  
  
"I'm an optimist," Trevelyan replied, crossing over to Dorian to lean in to capture Dorian's lips with his own for a deep kiss. Tongues met in a brief dance before Trevelyan pulled away, though gloved hands came to cup both sides of Dorian's face, gently pinching and squeezing at Dorian's ears. "Any spells you can think of that might defend against anything coming through the door?" he asked, bumping their foreheads together.  
  
"A number of spells," Dorian replied. "And I would begin setting them up, if you would let go of me."  
  
"It's such a challenge," Trevelyan said, straightening up. Dorian rose, taking his staff with him as he went down to the door.  
  
"Is there anyway you can fiddle with the knobs, perhaps block the mechanisms somehow?" Dorian asked as he stood in front of it.  
  
"I can melt the mechanisms, but it would do little good. Whatever it is can hold the doors shut, surely it can also just break it down," Trevelyan said from the balustrade, draping himself over the rail as he watched his lover perform his magic.  
  
"Let's just hope these will do then," Dorian said as he began.  
  
The mark on his left hand tingled as he felt Dorian draw upon the fade, calling the magic upon him. Trevelyan felt the energies coil loosely around Dorian, concentrating around his staff, then his arm and hand, strong, burning magic. Then, in a heartbeat, the magic coalesced into a fire glyph, the sigils burnt onto the door and the wall surrounding it.  
  
But Dorian wasn't done, with another pull of his magic he placed another glyph over the first.  
  
"A fire glyph and...?"  
  
"A reinforcement for the door. Should something want to come in, it would take them a little more effort to open the door," Dorian answered, smirking in Trevelyan's direction.  
  
"And when they do, they'll be roasted," Trevelyan said, returning a wide grin, resting a cheek on an upturned palm. "Excellent. Does that mean we get to use the bed for its intended purposes after all?"  
  
Dorian snorted. "Why yes, amatus, we are in fact, going to use the bed to sleep, which I know is a bed's intended purpose."  
  
Trevelyan shifted his legs, his grin turning into a sultry, suggestive smile. "'Purpose', singular. I specified 'purposes' which means there will be more than one use for the bed tonight."  
  
"You are incorrigible," was all Dorian replied, but his smile remained.  
  
"I am, and also quite in need for a bath," Trevelyan said, easily jumping off from the balustrade.  
  
Dorian rolled his eyes before he could catch himself. The Inquisitor did so love leaping from heights, it was quite a miracle the man had not broken a leg yet.  
  
Trevelyan began to shed his armor, starting from the outer coat and the pointed breastplate. "Care to join me?" he asked, coming up to Dorian and taking his hand giving it a squeeze. "I promise I'll behave until we get to the bed."  
  
"Your definition of 'behave' doesn't usually correspond with mine," Dorian said, chuckling. "Although yes, I do agree a nice warm bath is in order."  
  
Trevelyan leaned up to peck Dorian on the lips. "Isn't it great to be in the company of a skilled mage who could warm water in an instant?" he said with a wide cheeky grin and made his way to the water closet.  
  
Dorian sighed and shook his head. His lover was indeed a handful, but he wouldn't prefer it any other way.  
  
-  
  
The bed, as expected from one with Orlesian make, was especially soft and springy, quite like their bed back in Skyhold, which was a very welcome alternative to sleeping on grass and cold earth and also made for quite a comfortable experience, considering most of Trevelyan's weight was pressed atop of him. Anywhere else and this position they were in now would feel quite less pleasurable than it had now.  
  
Trevelyan was on top of Dorian, his weight wholly concentrated on the entirety of Dorian's body. Not that Trevelyan's frame meant his weight could suitably overwhelm him, not really. Heavy, yes, that Trevelyan was, but it was a comfortable burden, if it could be called that at all.  
  
Sometime during their bath, Trevelyan had forgotten to conserve their little bottle of oil and thus left them with less than enough for whatever activities they had planned that night. It suited them both just fine, however, as there were plenty other activities they could indulge in, such as Trevelyan fucking Dorian's firm, muscled thighs.  
  
Strong, long-fingered hands held Dorian's thighs together while Trevelyan slid in and out of him, his hips rising and falling in the same usual motions. The remaining oil had been used to ease the way. Judging by Trevelyan's steady labored breaths, the position served.  
  
And served well it did as Dorian was treated to, as well as delivered, no small amount of kisses, from long, deep and penetrating, concentrated in passion, to light, fluttering ones, wandering from lips to chin, to neck and back again. His own erection left unattended for the meantime, though Dorian knew he'd be compensated for his patience soon.  
  
Trevelyan's movements did not cease. The friction was exquisite, the feel of Dorian's thighs enveloping him, not entirely, though it certainly did not lack intensity. It was not so much as a concentrated experience, but rather a collective one. Then and there, draped over all of Dorian, he could take in the scent of him, a hint of the ever-lingering scent of slightly burnt citrus and a hint of crushed spice, even after their bath. He also had the chance to notice the smallest of things, like the short exhale Dorian released with each of his thrusts and the smallest movements of every muscle in his being as he did so. He felt Dorian tense whenever he held back a groan.  
  
It was nothing short of exquisite.

"Dorian," Trevelyan moaned softly, grinding into Dorian with increased urgency. With another stroke he rose to a kneel, rapidly pumping his engorged length over Dorian before he came with a soft cry, spilling himself over Dorian's chest and middle.  
  
Trevelyan sucked in breath, surveying the sight of Dorian lit only by the soft glow from the hearth, face flushed red with desire, eyes hazy with unfulfilled pleasure, his elegant cock dripping with need.  
  
Not a moment longer though, as Trevelyan, having found his climax, sought to bring Dorian to his. He lowered his head onto Dorian's chest, licking away his own seed, tongue tracing smooth, lovely skin and further down to finally run his lips against Dorian's length.  
  
"Amatus," Dorian called, throwing his head back against the pillows, one hand reaching to bury fingers in Trevelyan's soft hair, urging him on.  
  
The endearment brought a small tremor through Trevelyan. How he would never tire of hearing Dorian calling him by that name.  
  
Instead of voicing such a thought, Trevelyan occupied his mouth with to pleasuring Dorian, knowing the sentiment wouldn't be lost as he took all of Dorian in and sucked him eagerly. His tongue swirled about the base and the head as he slowly inched back before dipping forward again, drawing out every last bit of sensation he could deliver. Trevelyan kept his pace slow, drawing out all the small, restrained sounds.  
  
Dorian had always been a quiet lover since the first time Dorian had climbed up to his quarters, but Trevelyan had been learning the best ways to inspire those sounds more frequently. It involved more patience on Trevelyan's part, but the small, desperate moan emanating from Dorian and the way he canted his hips up, searching for release, brought Trevelyan no small amount of joy. He obliged Dorian though, as he always did and quickened his pace, wrapping his arms around Dorian's hips to steady both of them as he quickened his pace.  
  
Exhaling sharply, Dorian could not help but jolt up as Trevelyan quickened his pace, the wet, slick velvet of his wicked tongue sending him to heights of ecstacy he had never thought possible. He had numerous lovers in Tevinter, but none among them could ignite his senses the way Trevelyan can. Every minute movement took him higher and higher until he could no longer hold it in.  
  
Dorian called out Trevelyan's name, warning him briefly, but as with all such efforts, Trevelyan merely deepened his attentions, going as far as to take him until the root.  
  
With another cry, Dorian came undone in Trevelyan's arms, throwing his head back as his body went taut. He rode the tremors of his orgasm, aware of how Trevelyan seem to relish every drop, even licking the stray drops from the side of his mouth, right where a forked scar was, accentuating those thin, yet surprisingly generous lips instead of marring it.  
  
Those lips now sought another kiss from him and Dorian opened his mouth willingly, tasting their mingled essences as their tongues slid together. Trevelyan lay on his side now, pulling Dorian along with him.  
  
"Tomorrow," Trevelyan murmured into their kiss, which had turned slow and languid before ultimately ceasing as slumber loomed. He had his arms wrapped around Dorian's and pressed both their naked bodies close."Tomorrow we should find the cause of whatever it is plaguing this house."  
  
Dorian, equally worn, his head resting against Trevelyan's arm. No doubt the man would sleepily complain of his arm falling asleep in a few moments. "Tomorrow," Dorian agreed, giving Trevelyan one last peck, before he shifted slightly, so his head occupied a pillow instead of an arm and with a sweep of magic, brought the covers to cover both of them.  
  
"Good night, my duckling," Trevelyan mumbled, closing his eyes completely.  
  
"Sweet dreams, amatus," Dorian returned softly, doing the same.  
  
As they both fell asleep in an instant, neither of them heard the insistent scratching at their door.  
  
It stopped after a few moments and the same light footsteps from earlier echoed through the halls, accompanied by a woman's delighted laugh.


	4. Black Void

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very hard chapter to write, plus delays because life gets in the way. X_X Hopefully next one doesn't take too long.

It felt as though he had been walking for ages on a hallway that looked vaguely familiar. He could not exactly pin down where he was, the scenery from the windows covered by thick fog that revealed the occasional silhouette, and then nothing. 

"This is the Fade," Dorian said from beside him, his voice and presence a sudden, but welcome, comfort. Trevelyan had not noticed he was there, not until then, and his hand immediately sought his. 

"How can you tell?" Trevelyan asked, he didn't question why Dorian was there, nor why he was even there with him. There was something at the back of his mind, an inescapable yet nebulous feeling that something was amiss, but Dorian's presence made sense. 

Dorian clasped Trevelyan's hand back tightly, the side of his lips quirking up in a small smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "An educated guess, although in my experience it has never been this endless or so foggy."

Trevelyan brought up his left hand, glancing at the mark on his hand, dormant. He muttered something that sounded strange to his own ears and the mere thought of it took a great deal of effort to form and even speak of. The awareness of the entire thing hit him for a moment, tangible only for a brief heartbeat, all at once terrible and urgent, before going away again, bringing Trevelyan back into complacency. 

"What did you say, amatus?" Dorian asked as they continued walking aimlessly forward.

Trevelyan shook his head. "Nothing," he replied. It didn't matter, did it? 

They were in another place, another time. It didn't have a name. It didn't matter. Not at all. Yes, that was right. 

That was what Dorian had said. Hadn't it?

The path soon revealed a door. Vast and imposing, Trevelyan nevertheless pushed on the immense structure found it gave way easily under his touch. He stepped in, still holding Dorian's hand. It seemed imperative to never let go of that hand, though he couldn't find a reason why and therefore found it strange to do so when it seemed perfectly safe. Why, there was even music coming from across the hall, the sound of lively violins and even laughter.

They reached the end of the hall and found vast glittering ballroom with the bones of a giant dragon overhead. Numerous masked partygoers danced with the music, while others, also masked, stood at the sides, clutching glasses of red wine or canapés as they murmured to each other in conversation.

Drawn by the inviting light, Trevelyan and Dorian stepped into the party, where they were immediately welcomed by warm applause. The dancers stopped as they approached to stand and clap their hands as well and they all smiled at them both with their warm, half-moon grins.

A young woman approached from the center of the ballroom and the dancers parted to give her way. She too, wore an elaborate mask, made with obsidian and diamonds and styled to resemble a spider's web. The slits where eyes should have been were mirrors, reflecting both Dorian and Trevelyan's slightly confused and nervous faces.

The woman smiled and did a little curtsey. "Welcome to my party," she said, her voice seemed to echo through the vast space, even though there were many people around them. "Won't you dance together?" 

Trevelyan opened his mouth to protest, but the words that came out of his mouth were something else entirely. "Of course, milady," he said, momentarily baffled for a moment before he made a little bow. What was that? He did want to agree in the first place, hadn't he?

He turned to Dorian, offering his hand and the wicked grin he knew his lover would not deny. "May I ask for this dance, love?" 

Dorian did not look at him for a moment, his eyes still resting on the young woman who had her head cocked to the side with a small smile on her face. She said nothing. Dorian opened his mouth as if to protest, but he closed it again and turned to Trevelyan, giving a small smile. He took Trevelyan's hand. "Of course," he replied, sparing one last glance at the young woman before Trevelyan positioned the both of them.

The music began once more and the other guests began anew, moving and twirling across the marble dance floor with renewed vigor. The young woman melted into the crowd. Trevelyan began spinning them both into a waltz, humming the melody under his breath, looking as though he hardly had a care in the world.

"Don't you think this is strange?" Dorian murmured under his breath, searching Trevelyan's face, but the man smiled at Dorian's question in puzzlement, clearly not understanding.

"We are attending a ball where we're both dancing in full view of—" he looked around, squinting, "Orlesian nobles, which is a novelty since we usually dance somewhere more private, but no, nothing strange at all." He spun Dorian around and brought him to a low, sensual dip, brushing their lips together before putting them both back upright. "Why?"

Dorian's eyes widened by a fraction, slightly dizzy from Trevelyan's fancy maneuvers. When they both straightened again, Dorian could no longer remember what he had been about to say. What were they talking about? He was about to answer a question. A question of why? The image of the young lady flashed in his mind, and for a single moment everything made sense all at once, but Trevelyan tugged him along and graced him with one of his most dazzling, disarming smile. 

Why indeed.

Perhaps, Dorian thought, as he and Trevelyan glided across vast space, the crowd of other party guests melting along with the scenery into blinding white until nothing was left but the both of them, not even the music.

Neither of them noticed, lost in the act of their dance. Nothing else mattered. 

Trevelyan and Dorian moved around and with each other in complete harmony, moving to the beat of their feet and their soft breaths. Trevelyan and Dorian reached the open, one hand letting go of the other's as they held their arms back, but before they could hold hands again everything turned to black.

The jarring experience of completely losing his sight in an instant had Dorian let go of Trevelyan and while he tried to reach for him again, Dorian's hand only met empty space. He turned around, trying to look for Trevelyan, but there was only darkness and utter silence. He called out Trevelyan's name, but he couldn't hear a single sound. In his panick he reached up to touch his face, but could not seem to feel his face or his fingers for that matter. Was this the void, that he could not even experience any senses? He felt himself dispersing, he no longer had physical form and his mind seemed to drift apart, like spilling wine from a knocked-over bottle. 

But he was conscious. He had to keep it together, had to recall. 

He was Dorian Pavus, a man, an altus mage of the Imperium, a pariah, a member of the Inquisition. He and the Inquisitor—his Inquisitor— had been in the Emerald Graves, trying to disperse a splintered group of rebels from disrupting the peace in the area. They—

A ray light appeared somewhere in front of him and all at once it seemed Dorian came together and from the meager light he could see the faint outline of his hands, his body. He took a step towards the light until he was beneath the single beam of white. He then turned around, curious and more than a little frightened of what was happening.

As sudden as the blindness he had experienced early, more than a handful of eyes surrounded him. Human eyeballs with stark gray irises against white, framed in red veins. They seem to float in the darkness, wide as if in curiosity . Dorian recoiled, bringing in front of him a blaze of fire, but the darkness swallowed the flames before they could reach the eyes. 

"What do you want?" Dorian mustered enough courage to speak, glad his voice seemed to carry even though it sounded feeble. "Where is—" he cut himself short as the eyes narrowed in reply, sinister, mocking and gleeful at the same time. Dorian felt a cold finger on the back of his neck, tapping on him twice. He turned around too quickly and lost balance. He hit the back of his head on the floor.

The sight of numerous eyes, hundreds, wide-eyed in excitement was the last thing he saw before he lost consciousness.


	5. Curtains of Dreams

Dorian awoke to the familiar canopy above his bed. From the hideous shade of green, he knew he was in his home in Qarinus. He had just been dismissed from the Circle at Carastes. Dread washed over him, followed by resentment. His father had not said anything all throughout the trip home and neither did he.  
  
There had been some sort of relief mixed with frustration for Dorian. He had expected admonishment, or at least an interrogation, but no. It was as if nothing had happened and Dorian had been sent home for some mundane reason. The story had been some illness and there was not even a single attempt to find out what exactly had happened. Certainly a few details had been supplied by the First Enchanter and the general idea that he had been the instigator, and therefore the one who would need to withdraw for school. It didn't matter, what mattered was how Halward would spin the story, how he would cover it all up for the sake of appearances.  
  
He stepped out of the corridor, finding himself in a scene of his mother and father in the family dining hall, quietly eating. It was almost picturesque, cordial, even serene, but Dorian knew better. Underneath the silence simmered long-standing disdain and only maintaining pretenses could keep them sitting together at the same table. Both his parents were long past shouting matches, they regarded each other with loathing now best expressed by silence.  
  
As he sat down, he picked up the silverware with his hands, large and clumsy in his adolescence. He was to be transferred to another Circle soon. A tutor simply wasn't suitable, given his young age, he should be among his peers, learning in institutions that could foster his talent. His father pointedly did not discuss how Dorian had been straddling his tutor, learning anatomy when the topic had supposedly been magical theory.  
  
His mother said nothing. Unsavory details were best kept under silence, like their loveless marriage, like her drinking, like the sex of Dorian's preferred company.  
  
He was in bed again, this time with a hangover that threatened to crack his skull in two. He was naked and reeked of a brothel. His father could no longer ignore or glean it over, so he was to be confined to the estate, a prisoner in his own home.

Dorian's life had been made up of pretenses. An endless endeavor in crafting the perfect, unerring image of power.  
  
And there seemed to be no end to it.  
  
He was nine again, this time standing in front of his father's desk in his expansive study. Halward's blank, blank eyes bore into him, nearly comical, as though he was a puppet in a show, features were pulled tight into an expression of frustration. He was about be admonished, but the only words that came through were the excuses that had been made in order to hide Dorian's shame.  
  
Which shame?  
  
Numerous expulsions from nearly every educational institution surrounding Qarinus, and handful of suspensions prior to it. Several separate hearsays regarding Dorian and his keeping of intimate company with other young men, mostly whose services were bought and more than a few actual incidents of being caught openly indulging in such acts. Academics ignored in favor of indulgent activities.  
  
Dorian tried to retort, but he was nine and unable to completely articulate his arguments. He felt clumsy, restrained by something.  
  
Then he was twelve, fifteen, then seventeen, each passing time more and more embittered. Why could he not simply be left alone?  
  
He was twenty and defiant, fully given in to drink and the pleasures of the flesh. Only in the lucid moments when the haze left him did he truly comprehend his sorry state, but those were few and far in-between.  
  
The cycle continued. Was he to live this forever? An endless blur of his sorry life, so utterly hopeless that Dorian could not fathom ever breaking free of it.  
  
Again he was in his room, unable to leave. Meals were sent up to him by a middle-aged woman with burn scars on her hands.  
  
"You've passed this," she said as she set the tray down. Her accent was thick with Orlesian and Dorian could not comprehend what the words meant and ate his meal of fig and fresh greens. When did they ever had a servant who spoke with an Orlesian accent?  
  
The same woman again later as he sipped a pleasant afternoon tea with his mother. Truly it was more of a session of how mother and son attempted to appear sober while sipping elfroot tea and attempting conversation and the arrival of the servant with the burnt hands. Dorian had wished to ask her about what she had said earlier, but her eyes shone with caution, fear and Dorian didn't press.  
  
The same woman appeared again. This time during the dinner his father had first presented the idea of marrying Livia Herathinos to him. As she poured him wine she whispered, "This is but a recreation in your mind," she murmured. She filled his wine glass, deep red wine sloshing around the glass.  
  
Instead of opening his mouth to argue with his father, he stopped. A sudden, jarring sense of "sameness" washed over him, as though he had somehow experienced this before. The woman stepped away, wine bottle left on the table.  
  
"No," he replied, just as he had before. Before? Yes, he had said this before. "I will not marry Livia, or anyone else you choose for that matter."  
  
His father's gaze grew hot with anger. His features were drawn, a hint of exhaustion in them. He tired of Dorian refusing him everything. "You will if you know what is good for you, for the Pavus name."  
  
Dorian could anticipate those words, because how could he not? He had lived this, yes, a dozen times he had played this scene in his head as he traveled with a caravan down south to Nevarra and a hundred times now, in this strange, looping dream that seemed to revel in his past horrors.  
  
His mind raced as the scene in front of him shifted, as if reality were some backdrop, easily ripped away and replaced. What had the woman said? This was all a recreation in his mind.  
  
He was nine yet again, standing in front of the his father's study, then unwilling to face his father for what he might and might not say. He could remember the anxiety washing over him like a cold rush of wind, but he looked at his hands and found them small, but they were not really, as it was all trick of the mind.  
  
The woman stood beside him, one of her scarred hands on his shoulder.  
  
"You can free yourself, quickly, while she is away," she said.  
  
He had lived this before and the realization made it all too easy for Dorian to shut it all out and will it away. He closed his eyes, no longer an actor in this stage that someone had set up to trap him in. With his magic, he felt for the fabric of the illusion constructing this place and once he had his grasp on it, immediately knew how to dismantle it. Suddenly it was all so flimsy, so trivial.  
  
He tugged on a thread, and it unraveled.  
  
He arrived in an unfathomable darkness, free, for the meantime.


End file.
